


About a Riv

by china_shop



Category: due South
Genre: Alligators & Crocodiles, Cars, Fic, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Road Trip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-21
Updated: 2010-09-21
Packaged: 2017-10-12 02:05:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/119587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/china_shop/pseuds/china_shop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fraser finds a 1971 green Buick Riviera in Ottawa, and takes Ray Kowalski and Diefenbaker on a road trip to Florida to deliver it to Ray Vecchio.</p>
            </blockquote>





	About a Riv

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rubberbutton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubberbutton/gifts).



> With many thanks to my betas, Miriam, Sage and mergatrude.

"Fraser!"

It started with a green Buick Riviera.

"Fraser, what the hell are you doing? Dief, what's got into him? He's chasing traffic!"

We were in Ottawa. I was required to report to the RCMP headquarters to receive my next posting, and Ray Kowalski, now my partner in more than just a professional capacity and lacking any discernible desire to return to Chicago after our adventure, had accompanied me.

"Fraser! Wait up! The cab driver won't take American money!"

I was hurtling along the city streets, Dief at my heels, in pursuit of a familiar green car, my heart in my throat, eyes watering against the exhaust fumes and the stale city air. The ground was hot and unyielding beneath my feet, and traffic horns blared impatient warnings. I couldn't stop.

"Fraser! It's not Vecchio! You know it's not Vecchio. Get _back_ here!" Ray's calls grew increasingly exasperated, but I couldn't obey.

The lights changed at the end of the block and the traffic slowed, and finally I reached my prize. I straightened my lanyard and knocked on the passenger side window as politely as I could.

The family inside all turned to look at me, their expressions a collage of surprise and bewilderment. A teenage girl was driving.

The gentleman in the passenger seat rolled down his window. "Is something wrong?"

I took off my hat and tried to formulate a coherent sentence. "I need--That is, I beg your pardon, but is there any chance you'd allow me to purchase your automobile?"

"Fraser!" Ray stumbled to a halt next to me. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Ray," I said. "This is--" I looked expectantly at the man in the car and willed him to cooperate.

"Riddiford," he said, frowning. "Charles Riddiford."

"And I am Constable Benton Fraser. This is my wolf, Diefenbaker, and my partner, Detective Ray Kowalski of the Chicago Police Department. We would very much like to buy your automobile."

"What?" Ray was confused. "I already have a car, Fraser, and it's a lot cooler than this one."

"Chicago?" repeated Riddiford, latching onto the least important aspect of my introduction. "What's an American cop doing in Ottawa with a Mountie?"

"I, uh, first came to Canada on the trail of the killer of his mother." Ray jerked a thumb in my direction. "And for reasons that really do not need exploring right now, I stuck around."

A chorus of horns and verbal objections drowned out his last few words. The lights had changed again.

"Well, nice to meet you, Detective," said Riddiford. His family nodded in agreement, except the boy in the backseat, who was staring transfixed at Diefenbaker. "I'm afraid we can't sell Vera, though. She doesn't belong to us--she belongs to my great-aunt." He nodded goodbye and motioned to the girl in the driver's seat, and the car started to accelerate away.

"But--" I called, starting after them. "You can name your price."

Ray tackled me and hauled me to the sidewalk as the traffic surged around us. Even Dief was looking at me askance.

I turned to argue with both of them, to insist we give chase, but Ray's expression forestalled argument. He squinted at me, head tilted. "It's okay. I got the plate."

"You." My heart lightened. I'd been too flummoxed to think of it. "You got the plate. Excellent work, Ray. Thanks."

"Don't mention it," he said. "Instead you can give me one good reason why we should buy a moldy old Buick, because it looks to me like you're planning a road trip down memory lane."

  
* * * * *

Fraser thinks it started with the Riv, but it didn't. It really started four days earlier in Inuvik, before we kissed for the first time, when I called my Mom to tell her we hadn't been eaten by polar bears and I still had all my toes and fingers.

"Stanley!" She sounded exactly the same, like the last three months hadn't happened, which just added to the weirdness of being back around other people and sounds and all these man-made things like buildings and roads and vehicles with engines.

I was still suffering from culture shock, I guess, so I only caught some of what Mom said, but what I did hear threw me for a loop and a half. I hung up, feeling blank all the way through. "Huh."

"What is it?" Fraser came in with a handful of official-looking letters and memos. "Did you pass on my regards to your parents?"

"Yeah." I scratched the back of my head. "Uh, no. Sorry. I forgot." I perched on the edge of his temporary desk, while he sat down and found a letter opener and started slitting the envelopes like he was doing pro-level decoupage. The letters were all typewritten--if the RCMP was anything like the CPD, most of them were probably payslips and parking vouchers that had been forwarded up to Canada from the Consulate in Chicago.

"Stella." I stopped, still trying to get my head and my mouth around it.

Fraser looked up, eyebrows raised. "Are you--" he started, his voice soft and disappointed.

I interrupted before he could finish. "Stella and Vecchio hooked up and moved to Florida," I said in a rush. "They bought a bowling alley."

Fraser stilled. Even the letter he was holding was dead still. "Ray Vecchio?"

I nodded.

Fraser's shoulders went back, chin up. "I see."

He placed the letter opener squarely on the stack of uncut envelopes and stared at it while the clock on the wall ticked the day away. At last he looked up. "I'm sorry. I know you still have feelings for--"

I stood up and kicked the door shut. "You don't know anything," I said, and I grabbed him out of his chair and kissed him. First kiss. Clumsy and confused and searing me from head to foot. _I'm yours_ , I told him every way I knew how. Slid my fingers into his hair, my tongue into his mouth. _Yours, yours, yours, stupid! How can you not know that?_ After a couple of shocked seconds, he kissed me back.

We'd been off the ice for less than twenty-four hours.

The rest of that day, I walked around like I was hypnotized. I couldn't breathe normally, I couldn't think. I just listened to my heartbeat doing the quickstep, and the refrain going around and around in my head: _this is it, he kissed me back, tonight, Jesus!_

And yeah, that night when we finally got to be alone in our poky temporary RCMP housing, and we'd both self-consciously showered and shaved and put on clean clothes and eaten our vegetables. After Dief had laughed himself silly and Fraser had dutifully watched the evening news. After I waited, hoping he'd make the move, I finally caved and reached out to him, and the next second he was in my arms, squeezing me tight, kissing me like he wouldn't ever stop.

We didn't even make it to the bedroom--we kissed on the couch like a couple of horny teenagers, all muffled grunts and _yeahyeahyeah 'sgood, you're killing me._

I got my hand in his pants and jerked him off while he kissed my mouth and cheek and neck, and honest-to-god whined as he came. I had no idea how long it'd been for him, maybe years. It was like he was letting me see him, the real him, after all those months of serge and parkas.

 _Then_ we started for the horizontal bed type surface, but nothing doing, it just didn't seem that important, especially when he crumpled to his knees and started blowing me at the foot of the stairs, within spitting distance of the living room doorway, with the TV blaring a game show and the curtains not even completely drawn.

Afterwards we sprawled in a tangled heap on the stairs. "All this time," I said, sneaking my hands under his clothes, touching him.

He kissed me, and I thought we were good, it was so fucking good. I didn't get the full surround-sound pictorama till later, but that's how it was. Him and me and the whole Vecchio thing. It started with the phone call.

  
* * * * *

Fraser and Kowalski don't know what they're talking about. It started in a suite in the Hotel California, and again in a ward in Northwestern Memorial Hospital. It started with Fraser blowing my cover--not Kowalski's dick--and nearly getting me killed again. It started with me playing the martyr, telling him, _It's fine, I'll be fine, go._

It started with one Stella Anne Kowalski.

Don't ask me what I was thinking--isn't it obvious? She was beautiful and not like anyone I knew in Vegas, and she smiled at me like I was a returning war hero. I thought _I can't stay in Chicago. I'll suffocate._ I thought _Congratulations, Ray! You just won yourself a golden-bullet retirement and a smart beautiful woman to share it with_. I thought _I could love her._

She said we should take things slow, that she wasn't ready for anything serious. Meanwhile, I was already planning in the back of my mind how and where to propose. "Let's take a chance," she said. "Let's travel around South America or the Caribbean. I've always wanted to go to Venezuela and Aruba and the Bahamas."

I talked her down to Florida. Hey, it's in the South.

My Uncle Lorenzo used to run a bowling alley over on West Belden. I spent half my childhood in that place. Stella laughed at me and said, "You're crazy, but I guess a change is as good as a rest."

But even at the start, on the flight to Tallahassee, when I took her hand and smiled, and said, "So, what's Stanley like?" Even then there was a sneer in my voice I couldn't control. Because this was all backwards. Because I couldn't stop thinking about Fraser standing by my hospital bed and me saying _Leave_. I should have been thinking about her.

"What's Stanley like?" I rubbed my thumb over the sapphire ring on her right hand.

Stella flinched a little and started to withdraw her hand. "Ray--"

And I backed down right away. "Sorry, I'm sorry," I said, hanging on. Laughing. "I didn't mean anything. He's been--you know, he's living my life. He knows every little detail about me." I let that trail off, let her take pity on me.

Her fingers relaxed. A stewardess came down the aisle and took our dinner trays, and when she was gone, Stella folded her tray table into the seat in front. Her hands were capable, and she smelled like a fresh start.

"Call him Ray," she said. "He goes by Ray."

"That's not just his cover? Him being me?"

"He's been Ray since we were kids." Stella looked at our hands and grimaced. "He's a good man. He's loyal and shrewd and--" She gave a small, unconvincing laugh. "--persistent. He believes in people. He hates shopping--I don't think he's bought any new clothes since we separated. He likes hockey and baseball and dancing, and--" Her smile turned nostalgic, so I interrupted.

"And him and Fraser--they get on okay?"

Her face went blank, telling me more than I wanted to know. "They've closed some major cases this past year," she said.

 _Fine_ , I thought. _Great. Is he queer?_ But there was no way to ask that, and I didn't really want to know. Benny and I had never followed through on our feelings for each other. Hell, I went to Vegas so I wouldn't have to front up and talk about it, crazy as that might sound. It was too big, too much--I would have drowned in it. So I traded in my cowardice for a bunch of wise guys and an FBI handler.

"Enough about them," I told Stella, lacing my fingers through hers. "Let's talk about us."

Less than four months later, Fraser and Kowalski pulled up in front of our garage in a green Buick Riviera. "They're here," called Stella from the living room, and we both went to the door, opening it just as a silver Caddy with tinted windows skidded to a halt behind the Riv. Two toughs sprang out, and the taller one--fuck if I didn't know him from Vegas--pointed a machine-gun at us. I hauled Stella back, lifting her off her feet, and slammed the door for cover. When I looked out again, Fraser was on the ground. Kowalski was gone.

  
* * * * *

"Detective Vecchio?"

Ray Kowalski and I both looked around. We'd stopped for gas in Petersburg, Virginia, and Ray was investigating the persistent knocking that resonated through the Riviera whenever we exceeded twenty-five kilometers per hour.

The speaker was a young man with a receding hairline and deep-set eyes. He looked to be of Italian descent.

"Not anymore," said Ray. "Why d'you ask?"

"No reason. I'm a fan." The man showed his teeth. "Nice car." He slid into his Lincoln Town Car and drove off, turning north. Ray and I exchanged glances, then shrugged in unison. I'd long since given up trying to understand Americans.

Ray slammed the hood and rubbed his hands on his jeans, leaving faint black streaks that accentuated the length of his thighs. I quickly averted my gaze, forgetting that I was at long last permitted to look, to want.

In Dillon, South Carolina, the next day, I caught a glimpse of a Cadillac Seville in the rearview mirror as we drove out of the diner's parking lot after a late lunch. I thought nothing of it. Ray was slouched down in the passenger seat, digesting a rather revelatory conversation of a personal nature, and I was keeping my lips buttoned and my eyes on the road. I had no wish to rub him the wrong way while he cogitated.

The engine's knocking turned to rattling and then proved debilitating, and we had to cool our heels for three days in St. George, South Carolina while we waited for a new camshaft. "I can get one sent in from Charlotte," drawled Winston, the leathery, gray-haired mechanic, wiping his hands on a grease-stained rag. "I'd fetch it myself, but the Grits Festival starts tonight and I'm in charge of the sound system. My Amanda would blow a gasket if I weren't there for the talent contest. She does Dolly Parton."

He winked slyly, and we thanked him and resigned ourselves to the delay. The annual World Grits Festival was apparently quite an event. St. George was teeming with people, and we were only able to secure a motel room by chance. "I've just had a cancellation," said the matronly woman at the motel reception desk, "but I'm afraid you boys are going to have to share."

"That's no problem. Thank you kindly." I took the key and waited while Ray signed the register.

The woman looked from Ray to me to my Stetson. "What's up with the hat? Are you a boy scout?"

"Yeah, he is," said Ray, before I could answer.

Her eyes lit up with enthusiasm. "Oh, are you all here for the jamboree next weekend? We have the best jamboree this side of Chattanooga. My cousin Vern spends half the year planning it out, and--"

"Actually, I'm not--" I started.

Ray interrupted. "Maybe we'll stick around for that. Thanks." When we got outside, he added, "Just agree and move on, Fraser. That's the only way to survive in a small town."

"Actually, Ray, you may have a point," I told him. "In fact, it's a funny story. When Old Cob Nobbis moved to Tuktoyaktuk in '62, he was mistaken for the new Presbyterian minister and it wasn't until three years later anyone realized that he was actually a qualified plumber and wanted for murder and extortion in two provinces."

"In what way is that a funny story?" demanded Ray. "A guy nearly gets away with murder, and you--" He shook his head. "You got a sick sense of humor, my friend." But despite his words, he slung his arm across my shoulder and tousled my hair, and I knew he'd forgiven me my revelation of earlier.

The World Grits Festival was unexpectedly diverting, and I ended up buying a quantity of corn relish from the stalls the next day, as well as some dolls dressed as farmers.

"Who are those for?" Ray asked, sliding his wallet back into his jeans pocket.

"No one in particular." I swung the bag, feeling jaunty. "Perhaps I'll give one to Dief for Christmas. Don't tell him."

Dief was on the other side of the town square, abasing himself for hotdogs.

"Maybe Stella would like one," I added.

Ray stopped. "Oh yeah. That'll go over real well."

"It was just a thought," I said mildly. "She's Ray's life partner, and Ray is my friend."

"Fraser, I hate to break it to you, but Stella is not your number one fan." His voice rose. "And you're not going to win her over with dolls--you're about thirty years too late for that."

People were looking. Thankfully, at that moment, a short mustachioed puce-faced gentleman in a ten-gallon hat started talking into a public address system. Beside him were a dozen children dressed as ears of corn with the husks peeled back. His voice echoed around the square, and the bustle of the festival died down. Good-natured, happy faces turned to listen as the children began to sing.

I touched Ray's arm. "Let's go back to our room," I murmured. I'd already learned that Ray found sex an enjoyable, effective way to release tension, and it allowed me to unequivocally demonstrate my feelings, where words often failed me.

"Don't tell me to go to my room, Fraser. I'm not a kid--"

"No." I stepped close to him, using the crowd as an excuse to brush my body against his. " _Our_ room."

"Oh." He took a sharp breath and his irritation subsided. "Okay. Yeah." We wove our way through the townspeople.

"Detective Vecchio?" The man's voice came from behind us, beyond the edge of the crowd. Ray and I both turned at the question, stepping past the stalls to investigate

It was the young man from Petersburg, this time accompanied by a friend.

"I told you before, I'm not Vecchio," said Ray. "I'm Kowalski. What do you want?"

The man shrugged that aside and said easily, "Hey, this is a lucky coincidence, running into you here of all places."

"Coincidence," said Ray, his eyes narrowed. "Right. Listen, we got plans. We'll just be--"

The friend, a sturdily built older man, chimed in, "Hey, uh, you got jumper cables, right? Our car broke down a couple of streets that way." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "We could really use some help, you know? Could you help us out?" They started shepherding Ray away from the festival, one on either side of him, ignoring his protests.

I followed along. "I'm afraid our car's at the mechanic's," I told them, "and I'm not entirely sure it's equipped with jumper cables, but I'm sure we could find someone local who'd be more than happy to assist you."

The young man glared at me openly until his friend punched him on the arm, and then they both adopted ingratiating smiles. "It's a three-man job," said the man, attempting unsuccessfully to hook his hand through Ray's arm. "We'll catch up with you later, by the apple-bobbing stall."

Ray scowled and pulled away. "Hey, wait a minute, you can't just--"

"Many hands make light work," I said, refusing to be rebuffed.

"I think you mean too many cooks spoil the broth." The friend tucked a twenty dollar bill into my hand. "Why don't you find us some burgers and we can meet up for a meal later on, okay? This will only take half an hour, tops." We were almost a block from the festival now.

"No," said Ray, digging his heels in. "Why don't you lay off the Mr. Nice Guy routine and tell me--"

He was interrupted by a swell of brass instruments, and a second later twelve uniformed police officers with trombones and trumpets marched around the corner toward us, heading for the town square. It took me a moment to place the tune they were playing, but I eventually identified it as "Every Breath You Take" by the British rock band, The Police. When we looked around, the two men who'd accosted us had vanished.

Ray scratched the back of his neck. "That can't be good."

However, the rest of our stay in St. George was quiet. Ray won a frozen turkey in the shooting gallery and donated it to the motelier; Dief put on several pounds; and our mechanic Winston's wife won the talent show with her Dolly Parton homage.

I congratulated Winston on her win when we collected the car, but he seemed distracted and barely responded. When we were back on the road a few hours, he called Ray's cell phone. Ray was driving, so I answered.

"You gentlemen left the title for your vehicle behind," said Winston without preamble. "I'll forward it on to you, no problem. I just wanted to check I got the address right." I'd had the car ownership papers made out in Ray Vecchio's name, so the address he read out was the Florida one.

I thanked him and hung up.

Ray raised his eyebrows in inquiry.

"Perhaps we should call ahead and let Ray know we're coming," I said.

  
* * * * *

Fraser, no one gives a damn about corn relish or who won the Grits Festival talent show! Here's what matters:

One. We fucked in Fayetteville, North Carolina, on a four-poster bed with brocade covers and Fraser naked on his back, eyes shut, skin flushed, digging hot fingers into my shoulders as he came in my mouth.

It was the single best night of my life, to date. I thought _if I die now, it will all have been worth it, the four years as a beat cop, the divorce, the three months' freezing my ass off on a dogsled staring at snow. All of it._

Fraser was hungry for me, looked at me with big, happy eyes like I was an icefield, and he touched me everywhere, sending shivers across my skin and making me beg. Afterwards we lay awake for hours, trading the kinds of stupid jokes you make when you're off your gourd on sleep deprivation and love. Tickling and wrestling and making out in the shower. I was dizzy with the knowledge he was mine, that I could have him like this.

I was in so deep, I couldn't see an exit.

Two. On the road the next day, Fraser behind the wheel of the Riv because I was a sap and would've said yes to just about anything, Dief in the backseat and me watching the South Carolinian trees blur past, Fraser said, out of nowhere, without looking at me, "I love you."

"But," I prompted, automatically.

His eyebrows snapped together.

"You don't say that unless something's wrong." My stomach twisted into a bowline hitch. "What's wrong, Fraser?"

"I couldn't say." I looked over and, jeez, all of a sudden he was a bundle of defensive and confused. I reminded myself he hadn't done this before, the relationship thing. Not like this. So I twisted around to talk to Dief. "How about you, Furface? Can you tell me what's going on with this dingbat? Because I don't know--you think you know a guy, you know him outside and in, and he comes out with this _I couldn't say_ bullshit? What is that?"

Dief looked at me like I was the idiot at this particular barn dance and put his nose on his paws.

"It's not--Ray, I'm--" Fraser started half a dozen sentences out loud and maybe another dozen or so in his head, and finally managed, with a triumphant air, "It's not you, it's me."

"Jesus Christ!" I yelled, so loud Fraser swerved halfway across the road, which was, thank Christ, empty at this particular juncture.

"What?"

"Are you trying to kill me?" I demanded. "Do you want to bury me alive on the side of this highway?"

He still looked baffled, but even taking into account his upbringing, he was a fully functioning adult member of the human race and there was no excuse for this. "Fraser, are you dumping me?"

The brakes squealed and the car lurched like it was going to throw up. "No! Ray!" He grabbed my hand in a death grip. "No!"

"Okay." I squeezed back until I could breathe again. "Okay, good. Keep going." I waited a minute while he re-found his shit and put both hands on the wheel, and said, "So what, then?"

And Fraser, pin-up boy for morals and justice and Victorian courtesy, said, "It's just that, well. I felt I should mention--that you should know that I'm not by nature prone to monogamy."

My mouth fell open like a funfair circus clown, ten cents a throw.

Three counties later, I shook my head like there was water in my ears and asked, "What does that even mean?"

Fraser scratched his eyebrow. Apparently he'd been expecting this. "Well, Ray, monogamy is when an individual's romantic affections are reserved for--"

"No," I said, with superhuman patience. "Not an individual. You. What does that mean about you?"

Fraser slid his tongue along his lower lip. I could see his brain whirring, but he seemed to have run out of verbal juice.

So I helped, despite the greasy feeling in my gut. "Does this maybe have something to do with why we spent three thousand bucks on a junkheap of a Buick Riviera that was not for sale, and which we are now driving fourteen hundred miles to the Sunshine State to deliver gratis to my ex-wife's boyfriend?"

Fraser cleared his throat and snuck a guilty glance in my direction. "In a manner of speaking. Yes."

"Oh Jesus." I clapped my hands to my face. "Vecchio. You're going to break up Stella and Vecchio." It was like having a tornado in my head. Dief started howling in the backseat. "How could I be so stupid?"

"Ray!" Fraser sounded as horrified as I felt. He pulled over to the side of the road and ordered Dief to shut up. Then he turned to me, his face red as a maple leaf. "That's not it at all," he said earnestly. "I love you, Ray! I simply need to see Ray one last time. To say goodbye."

"Closure," I said. My heart stopped trying to escape through my chest. "It's called closure. You sure about that?"

"I'm sure." Fraser gave me a cautious smile, and I hauled him over and kissed him hard. _I'm yours and you're_ mine _!_

  
* * * * *

The goombahs were getting away.

I ignored Stella's cry of, "Ray! Wait!" and raced out into the street, but the Caddy was already skidding around the corner past the Cohens' place, tires screeching.

Dief pelted past in hot pursuit of the vehicle, and I looked around wildly. The Riv's passenger side door was still swinging open, and Fraser was on the ground with a bloody gash on his forehead. His hat lay in the gutter.

"Benny!" I crouched down next to him and grabbed his hand. "Come on, come on. This is no time to goof around."

Miraculously, his eyelids fluttered, and he squinted up at me. "Ray?"

"Yeah." I could've kissed him. I mean, for real. It flashed through me that after all this time, all those miles apart, I still wasn't over him. Maybe I'd never get over him. But it was too late--I'd made my choices, we'd both found other people. I swallowed around the lump in my throat. "You okay?"

He struggled to sit up and touched his forehead with a wince. "Of course. Where's Ray?"

"They took him," I said. There was a Kowalski-shaped hole in the scene, like an invisible chalk outline. "Dief's giving chase."

"Here." Stella was at my side, holding out an icepack wrapped up in a kitchen towel. "Constable."

"Assistant--" Fraser stumbled. "Ma'am."

"Come on, we have to get moving." She threw me the icepack and ran back to the house.

Fraser looked from her to me, and then touched his head, his fingers coming away sticky red. I shoved the icepack into his hand.

"We'll get him back, Benny. I promise."

"Did you recognize the men?"

"One of them. Tino. He was Langoustini's pool-table boy."

"You had a pool boy in Vegas?" asked Stella, from behind me.

"Pool _table_ boy," I repeated. "He tended the baize, chalked the cues. Mostly he propped up the bar. Kid has a skull like a bowling ball and he's about that smart."

Fraser wobbled to his feet, the icepack pressed to his head. "And the other?"

I shook my head. "I didn't get a good look at him."

"They may believe he's Detective Vecchio of the Chicago PD," said Fraser.

"The cop who put the Bookman away." My hands clenched into fists. "The Iguana family don't hold back when it comes to vengeance."

"Come on!" Stella was sliding behind the wheel of the Riv, leaning across to jam her pistol into the glove compartment along with her wallet. "I've called the police, but there's no time to wait. Get in."

I shoved Fraser into the backseat. "I hope they left some kind of a trail. We don't have time for you to sniff sixteen miles of dog pee!"

Stella peeled away from the curb before I got the door slammed shut.

Later, Stella said she'd figured out the lay of the land as soon as Fraser called to tell us they were coming. She'd heard me say, "He's still tagging along after you, huh?" and then yell, "You're what?!" into the phone.

She saw my face after I hung up.

That was the beginning of the end for us, though I couldn't admit it till later, after everything, when she hugged me and said, "Ray, look at us! We bought a _bowling alley_!" And we both laughed until we cried.

We had some good times, Stella and me, teasing and fooling around. I wanted to be in love with her, so I kept telling myself I was. It almost worked, too. But that life in Tallahassee was never what she wanted, and deep down, no matter how many times I told myself otherwise, it wasn't what I wanted either.

  
* * * * *

I saw movement in the water, through the mangroves. The air was thick and humid, humming with mosquitoes and dragonflies. My shirt clung to my back. I shrugged off my jacket, wiped my shirtsleeve across my forehead and paddled on. On the bank, men were shouting threats. I heard Ray Vecchio say something, and one of the Mafiosi growl a reply.

I had the element of surprise on my side. I glided forward silently.

A crack. A boom. A fireball filled the sky. Bodies were flung forward--onto the bank, into the water. A wave of heat swept out from the explosion.

I flung my arm up automatically to cover my face. When I lowered it, an alligator, easily fourteen feet long, slid past me toward a man thrashing in the shallows.

I kicked off my boots and dove in. I didn't know if the man was Ray or Ray or one of the malfeasants--I just knew I had to rescue him. In the distance, there were more shouts, sirens.

And then there were only water, bubbles, a flurry of human arms and legs. A long cruel jaw lined with razor teeth. An ancient, malevolent eye.

Later, after all the excitement, while Ray and Ray and I were each being treated separately and having leeches removed by EMTs, and local police were taking our statements, Stella came to find me.

"I understand Diefenbaker and I owe you a debt," I said.

She inclined her head. "It's good to know I can keep my head if I need to. I've only ever fired a gun at the shooting range before."

"And a snake is hardly an easy target." Dief had told me about his run-in with the cottonmouth, and how Stella had left the Riviera to come to his rescue. "If there's anything we can do to repay you, anything at all--"

She slanted a glance up at me. "I don't need pemmican or Canadian dollars, Constable, and other than that, the only surfeit you seem to have is of Rays."

"I'm not sure what you mean," I said, honestly. "I was under the impression you and Ray Vecchio were--"

"Over," she said.

"Ah." I took a moment to absorb that. Along the road, police lights flashed and radios chattered. Dief was standing guard over Ray Kowalski, apparently still bristling with indignation that a member of his pack had been stolen out from under him.

Stella hooked her thumbs in her jeans pockets. "I think they've made it pretty clear where their allegiance lies." She looked across at Ray Vecchio, perched in the back of an ambulance, his face smudged with soot and dirt. "Both of them." Then she turned back to me and let out a long breath. "So, Constable--"

"Please," I interrupted, "call me Fraser."

A wry smile touched her lips. "Only if you stop calling me _ma'am_."

I nodded.

"So, Fraser, I haven't broken it to Ray yet, but you might be interested to know that I'm planning on moving to New Mexico. Alone." She seemed philosophical, but I knew the pain of losing Ray.

"I'm sorry."

She shook her head. "Ray and I--our timing's off. I'm not ready to settle down again. Ray wants a home, romance, passion, and I want--"

"An adventure?" I suggested, thinking of Ray Kowalski in the ice crevasse those many months ago.

"Exactly," she said. "Life is too short for table settings and paint swatches."

"True enough." I was surprised by a rush of fellow feeling. "I wish you all the best."

"You too," she said. "Good luck finding a happy resolution with those two. That's a Herculean task if ever I saw one."

By the time I'd been cleared and pronounced physically fit, Ray and Ray were deep in discussion, still under Dief's careful observation. I cupped my ear and listened from a safe distance, aware that I was eavesdropping, but unable to help myself.

"Asshole," I heard Ray Kowalski say. "You just had to step in and save my life."

"What, I was supposed to let the alligators have you?" Ray threw his hands in the air. "What do you take me for?"

"Yeah, but now I owe you." Ray jabbed the air with his finger. "Which sucks."

I held my breath, loathe to interrupt if there were even the slightest chance of them finding their own way to a truce. Ray's annoyance seemed more ironic than genuine, to my ears. I tried to blend into my surroundings as much as possible.

Ray Vecchio studied Ray Kowalski for a long thoughtful moment, then leaned back and adjusted his sling. "So. Fraser, huh?" he said quietly.

Ray Kowalski shrugged. "Body and soul."

Ray Vecchio looked into the gloom of the swamp. "I guess you got dibs. That's what the Riv was about, right? A consolation prize."

"He said closure." Ray Kowalski shifted his weight and sighed. "It's really more like a Canadian Valentine. Apparently he's not exactly a one-man kind of guy."

Ray Vecchio blushed, but if he was surprised by this disclosure, he hid it well.

A police officer interrupted to ask them more questions about what had transpired. When he left, Ray said, "You know, you're not so bad, Kowalski. If my life was less complicated, if wishes were horses--"

"What are you saying?" asked Ray. "We work out some kind of a timeshare? What about Stella?"

"Yeah." Ray smoothed his sling again. "You're right. Forget it."

My heart thudded. If only--But Dief saw me then and barked, and Ray and Ray broke off their conversation and came to reassure themselves that I was all right.

That evening, Ray Kowalski and I borrowed Stella's Ford and went out to an open-air seafood restaurant a few miles from Ray and Stella's house, leaving them alone to talk.

And two hours after that, Ray turned up at the Lobster Palace, pulled up a chair, dropped his car keys on the table and ordered a beer. "So," he said, "another one bites the dust."

His left arm was still bandaged, but he'd discarded the sling.

"I'm sorry, Ray," I said, trying to sound sincere while hope rushed through my veins.

Ray Kowalski leaned across the table and clinked their beer glasses together. "Welcome to the club." He was on his third drink and had gradually relaxed as the evening progressed. "Who called it?"

"Does it matter?" Ray plucked a sprig of parsley from Ray's plate and chewed it.

"I guess not. Is Stella okay?"

"She's fine. Really." Ray rubbed his eyes. "Look at it from her point of view--no great loss, right? She says she's moving to New Mexico."

Ray snorted. "Maybe she'll find another Ray--third time lucky." He took a mouthful of beer. "So, what happens now?"

"I--" I started, then stopped. They already knew how I felt. There was nothing for me to contribute to the discussion at this point.

Ray Vecchio caught my eye and flushed, then leaned back and looked at the sky. "I guess that's up to us."

"You want to stay in Florida?" Ray Kowalski asked casually. He turned his glass in his hands.

"Florida, Canada--what's the difference?"

"About eighty degrees," said Ray. "I been thinking about Chicago." He shot me a glance, and I nodded, selling my home country down the river without a second thought. Ray nodded back, looking straight at me with love and such great fearlessness that I was utterly humbled. His impatience with my inconvenient desires, the niggling irritations of the drive down from Canada, all of that paled in the light of this emotion. Before the quest, he had undoubtedly relied on my opinion for guidance and self-worth, but much had happened since then. Ray was his own man now, a good man and generous. And I was lucky beyond belief.

Whatever he saw on my face made him smile lopsidedly and nudge my ankle with his foot. He drained his beer glass and put it on the wooden tabletop with a decisive clunk. "The thing is, you know Fraser. He's a lot to handle. I mean, for one guy to handle on his own."

Ray left off studying the heavens and fixed his gaze on Ray Kowalski, and I had the unnerving sensation of my future hanging in the balance, entirely outside my control.

"Kowalski--"

"Hey, it's your call." Ray pulled a toothpick out of his pocket and pointed it at him. "I'm just saying the offer's there. The timeshare offer."

Ray narrowed his eyes. "Because I saved your life? Forget it. You covered my ass while I was in Vegas. Today just balanced the books."

"Because he loves both of us," said Ray in a low voice, "and he, of all people, should get what he wants." His lashes lay dark against his cheeks, then he opened his eyes and added, "And because I'm enough of a schmuck to think maybe it could actually work, him and the two of us."

Ray stared at him a minute longer, then relaxed and nodded as though this were a perfectly ordinary conversation. "Okay," he said. "Chicago it is." He held up his glass in salute.

Ray grinned, then laughed out loud and called us all first class nutcases. He signaled to the waiter for two more beers and a glass of lemonade.

  
* * * * *

As usual, Fraser left out all the important stuff--like the part where mobsters were going to feed me to some really hungry swamp monsters and Vecchio saved the day. To be fair, I guess he missed most of that action. Here's the short version:

Fraser and me pulled up to the curb outside Stella and Vecchio's place. "Here goes nothing," I said.

Fraser already looked a little wild-eyed about me and Vecchio being in spitting distance of each other. I'd agreed to keep an open mind about whether I could be friends with the guy, but the last time I met him we were shoving each other and snarling about thirty seconds in, and I maybe still had some issues about Stella and other guys, even if her and me were donesville, so I didn't have high hopes.

Anyway, we arrived. We parked. And then it went screwy. A huge Cadillac roared down the street and was on us. Gunshots. Fraser on the ground, blood--oh, Jesus, no! I tried to hunker _and_ lunge for him but they got me, two of them, too strong for me to break free, though I gave it everything I had.

Dief growled and I told him _No_ , scared they'd take him out too. But they jammed a bag over my head and then there was nothing I could do but try to save myself.

The goons manhandled me into their car and slammed the door on my knee, making me howl.

"Shut up," said a rough voice. I howled louder. And then we were speeding, fishtailing sickeningly around corners, engine revving like a demon. The car settled into a steady pace after a while, as if we were on a highway, and then maybe twenty minutes later, there was the rumble of a gravel road.

We swerved ninety degrees and bounced down a steep shoulder onto another gravel track. "Get this off of my head. I'm gonna puke," I whined, frantic for a chance to see where the hell we were.

"Boss?"

A new, older voice said, "Fine," and then they had their grubby hands on me, ripping off the bag, and I could see again.

"Detective Vecchio," said the older guy, silver white hair and a nose like a hawk. "We're here to make you pay for what you did to Mr. Langoustini."

"What did I do?" I tried to see out the back window, see if anyone was after us. There was just trees and slimy-looking water and more trees. "I'm not Vecchio and I don't know what you're talking about."

"Come now, Detective, we know better than that," said Silver-Hair. "The Bookman was a respected member of our organization and you turned him into a fink and then locked him away for the privilege of betraying us, his most trusted and trusting friends."

"Huh." I tried to keep my cool. "That's your story? That's not what happened. The Bookman's dead."

"We know he's inside," said one of the hoods. "We just don't know where, and if we don't know where he is, we can't get him out, you get my drift?"

"That's where you come in," said Silver-Hair. "And where you go out."

They talked tough and I played dumb like that for another ten or fifteen minutes, until we came to a stop by a concrete boat ramp. There was already another car there--an SUV--and two more goons, with semi-automatics and a handful of plastic wrapping. Chicken carcasses bobbed in the water.

Silver-Hair got out of the car and went over to them. "Good work. Now go watch the road." He pointed back the way we'd come. "No surprises. And you--" He gestured to the goons who were dragging me out of the Cadillac. "--over here."

The guy had a plan.

Of course, the plan didn't include the Bookman showing up.

Vecchio drove up in the Riv only a couple of minutes later. He was alone, and I had no idea if Fraser was okay--he'd been out cold when the goons grabbed me. It was even odds if he was in the hospital or creeping around the swamp, getting himself into position to jump out in the nick of time and talk everyone into handing over their weapons. I didn't let myself dwell on the hospital scenario.

Vecchio parked between the Cadillac and the bayou, and got out. "Jimmy Two-Face," he said like he was schmoozing a cocktail party. He kissed the old man's cheeks, waved to the goons. "Tino and--Dino, right? Long time, no see. What are you guys doing in this neck of the swamp? I thought you never left the desert if you could help it."

Jimmy wasn't as pleased to see him as I hoped. "Armando," he said, stiffly. "Word's out that you're inside."

Vecchio's grin widened. "Where'd you hear that--on the back of a milk carton? I'm fine, I'm good. I decided it was time to retire, is all."

"How did you get past the Romanos?"

"You kidding me? They're good guys--they're not gonna get in my way." Vecchio shrugged and jerked his head in my direction. "What's going on? Who's the mook?"

"Whoa, man. It's a trick," said Tino, aiming his weapon at Vecchio's chest.

"He's dead." Dino shivered. "It's a ghost."

"Not a ghost," said Jimmy Two-Face. "A Judas." He pointed his cane at Vecchio and waved him over to stand next to me at the top of the boat ramp. "You betrayed us, your friends, the family. Now you'll pay."

"Come on, guys. What's Papa Iguana gonna say if you top me? What about _el capo famiglia_?" Vecchio started listing names, trying to find the key, the one connection that'd give him leverage, but Jimmy didn't give an inch. He kept his merciless gaze pinned on Vecchio till the names trailed off. Vecchio slowly raised his hands in surrender and backed up till we were standing side by side.

"Now what?" I said.

Vecchio stole a glance behind us. "Now we're both lunch."

I followed his gaze. Two enormous alligators were heading our way, nothing between us and them but twenty-five feet of water, a couple of dead chickens and a slimy old boat ramp. I looked around for an escape route, but all I could see was an ancient rowboat tied up along the bank, so rotten it was barely afloat. Not an option. "Fuck. Got any Canadian tricks up your sleeve?"

"Can't count on it," muttered Vecchio. He looked back along the road, maybe hoping against hope that Fraser or the cops or _someone_ would ride to the rescue. But they didn't, and Jimmy Two-Face wasn't the kind of guy to hang around waiting for his plan to go sour. He didn't need intel from me anymore. There was no reason for him to keep us breathing.

"Boys," he said, to Tino and Dino, and they raised their weapons and took aim.

"Dammit!" muttered Vecchio, and before I could agree, he bent down, and in one smooth motion, grabbed the gun from his ankle holster, flicked off the safety and shot the Riv.

I had about half a second of confusion: he shot the _Riv_? And then the car billowed into a fireball, mob guys and guns went flying, and it was all over but the shouting.

Over, that is, except for how I recoiled from the explosion, fell back, rolled down the slimy boat ramp and came face to muzzle with the scarred predatory face of a full-grown alligator looking for appetizers. I froze, couldn't breathe, forgot everything else--the goons, Fraser, _everything_. My whole world was that alligator, wrinkled and evil and so close I could smell its fetid breath. Could have reached out and touched it, if I'd been able to move. Its mouth started to open and my heart went zero to sixty, left me gasping. It was only Vecchio grabbing me by the arm, kicking the monster in the nose and yanking me out of harm's way that saved my life. The second time he saved me in less than a minute. It was downright embarrassing.

I collapsed on the bank, wondering if I was going to stroke out, while Vecchio tied up Jimmy. The air was heat blurred and tasted like burning paint and gasoline, but I didn't care--it was still the sweetest breath I ever took.

Once I figured out I wasn't dead, I registered the sounds of panicked shouting and splashing from the water. I staggered to my feet to see what was going on, but by that time Fraser was already hoisting Tino up the ramp.

"Fraser," yelled Vecchio. "How many times have I told you not to risk your life for murdering scumbags? You should've let him get eaten!"

"You could say I was saving the alligator from indigestion," said Fraser, water streaming off him like he was a fountain.

But Vecchio wasn't listening, distracted by how Dino had just kicked him in the arm and tried to escape. I went over to help subdue Dino, and by the time we had all three of the wise guys trussed up like turkeys, there was a chorus of sirens in the distance, getting steadily louder.

Guess we were easy to find, what with the vehicular smoke signals.

I turned to Vecchio, who'd left the goons to rot and was staring mournfully at the burning wreckage of the Riv. "Did you make a wish?"

He gave me a withering look. "Yeah, I did," he said. "I wished I didn't have to shoot the damned car."

  
* * * * *

Okay, between them, in their own special ways, Benny and Kowalski's accounts of that day in Tate's Hell Swamp are pretty much how it went down, but there's one thing they left out, because they weren't there for that part.

After Fraser left the car to commandeer a canoe and assume the element of surprise, I took the wheel, feeding Stella a line about how the Bookman would never let a woman drive. She rolled her eyes, but gave in anyway. And hey, it was half true.

The other, more important half was that I ached to be behind the wheel of a Riv again. It was like coming home. I felt at peace for the first time in months. I don't know what it is about that model of car, but it gets to the heart of me like nothing else.

Anyway, Stella rode shotgun, hanging on tight as we careened along the rough swamp road. "Ray," she said, "I need you to do one thing for me, and then you're off the hook."

"What hook?" I asked, preoccupied as I was with the car and the chase and keeping an eye out for wise guys and other homicidal wildlife.

"My hook," she said. "Me. We both know it's not--" She broke off. "Stop! Stop the car!"

I slammed on the brakes. "What?"

"That's Fraser's wolf."

I didn't see where she was pointing, but then Dief dashed across the road in front of us and into the tall reeds along the side of the road. Marking where he'd been was a dark glistening trail of blood.

Stella grabbed her gun from the glove compartment and checked the clip. "You go on. I'll save the dog."

"I can't leave you alone in the middle of Tate's Hell," I said, horrified. "Are you out of your mind?"

"I'm armed, the police will be by any minute and you have a better chance of fooling Tino and his friends if you go alone," she pointed out.

I gripped the wheel. "But--"

She was already out of the car. "One thing," she said before she closed the car door, looking beautiful and determined and everything I'd tried so hard to want. "Save Ray."

So I did, and the crazy thing was that once I saved him, I stopped feeling like he was the competition. Once I saved him, Kowalski was family--complicated, annoying, inescapable family.

It still took another three months before we hooked up, and we had some spectacular fights in that time, as we figured out by trial and error how to share Fraser in a way that worked for all three of us. I left twice, packing my bags and swearing I was through with both of them; Kowalski punched a hole in the kitchen wall one time, and then got so drunk he threw up in the laundry hamper; and when we fought, Fraser sometimes got that tight pinched look that made my heart ache. Made me wonder why we were even trying.

But maybe miracles happen, because after a couple of months we weren't fighting anymore, and a month after that, Kowalski cornered me in the hallway after my morning shower when I was dressed in nothing but a towel and said, "Don't freak out, okay? I want to try something."

"What?" I said, my mind about evenly split between breakfast and the case I was working for the Feds.

He pushed me lightly against the wall, and I was still thinking _coffee, cereal._ He leaned in, and I was thinking _I got to work out why Leo Catalano's been cozying up to airport security at O'Hare._

Then Kowalski kissed me, a soft, curious kiss, and it was like all the lights came on. I was right there, with his lips on mine.

Maybe after sharing Fraser and living together for months, it shouldn't have been a big deal. Maybe. But I'd spent the last twelve weeks telling myself that the frustrations of the situation were worth it because--and only because--Fraser was the one guy in the world for me. The only one.

To find myself wrapped around Kowalski, kissing him back--that turned my world upside down _again_. I slid my hands into his hair and kept kissing him. Partly I kept going because I knew when we stopped we were going to have to talk about it. But mostly I just couldn't help myself. I pushed him back a couple of steps so we were leaning against the other wall, and I started grinding into him, turned on out of nowhere. His shirt was soft against my bare chest, and then he loosened my towel and groped my ass.

"Jesus," I gasped against his mouth.

"Yeah," he muttered. "Who knew?" He bit my lower lip, slid his tongue in my mouth and I held him tighter, both of us breathing hard. My heart was pounding.

About the time he started nudging me toward his bedroom, there was the sound of a key in the door, and the next second the apartment was full of Dief and Fraser and the aroma of coffee and pastries.

"Ray? Ray? I brought breakfast," Fraser called, and Kowalski and I pulled back a little and started laughing. Kowalski still had his hand on my ass.

About thirty seconds later, we were in bed, all three of us, hands and mouths and dicks everywhere. And that's how it's been ever since. And, you know, whatever Fraser and Kowalski may say, I'm not complaining. It's crazy, but it's the best thing that ever happened to any of us. Not to mention, Kowalski and me have been checking the classifieds and the car auctions, and we are this close to tracking down another 1971 Buick Riviera. Call it a pet project. I get that car, on top of everything else, and then my life will be complete, my friend. Then my life will finally be complete.

END


End file.
